


Between Spell Waters and Hunted Men

by Nightingalewritings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Every Fairy Tale is specficially telling you how this is gonna end for the poor Sailor, F/M, Gen, He EARNED his death!, Jango is a 120ft long creature from the deep, Lullabies, Mandalorian Culture, Maori culture, Momdalorian, No Beta We Die Like Clones, Oh look! A Selkie/Mer Clone AU!, Sea Shanties, Selkie/Mer Clones of AWESOME, Selkies, Shmi is awesome and devious and you should never cross her, Stealing Selkie Coats! How Rude!, The Only one to Die is the bad Sailor tho, parents being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightingalewritings/pseuds/Nightingalewritings
Summary: A Sailor goes in search for a famed Selkie coat... Too bad he meets the most deviously mild woman on the earth who just happened to have been stolen from him before.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Shmi Skywalker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Between Spell Waters and Hunted Men

“A-013, eh?” The man’s voice came out as a slow drawl. He spoke around the pipe sitting in his jaw. “Kinda small compared to the rest of the Fett Pod. It’ll be easiest to document.”

“Tell that to the Natives.” A woman scoffed from down on the pier, her hands deftly repaired the fishing net that lay in her lap. Brown eyes looked away from her work, pinning a stern gaze on the old sailor. “You’re not from around here are you, Mister?”

“No. So?” The words were short angry bursts from around the smoking pie. 

“The Natives call him, Aitua.” The woman spoke frankly, eyes never glancing down at her hook as her hands did their rhythm. 

“What’s that mean? Isn’t that a word for Tiny or something?” The man leaned closer to the edge of his ship, an unusual type in the islands. The rigging was all fancy polished metal and fiberglass. There were hardly any dents or scrapes on her hull.

“It’s Maori for _Calamity_.”

With the final warning, the woman gathered her finished net, her hook and her twine and left without a parting glance. She had given her warning. If the Foreigner chose not to listen… well that was his fault, yes?

**PAGE BREAK**

The waters of Kamino were cold deep waters. Murky endless depths that were oh so very cold. Depths a man could not survive, it was all too dark, too cold, put too much pressure for the human body to _survive_ in. Too deep for human lungs to _breathe_ even the salty sea waters. Only the most experienced of sailors dared sail near what _, as_ they all called it _,_ ‘Te Wai Rewera’. Creatures lurked beneath the surface, big of fin and long of tail. Creatures so old, they were there before _your_ great grandparents were even _conceived_. Older than the _ancient_. 

The locals whispered and chittered about creatures that lurked just beneath the surface. Skins that were too smooth to be fish, too colorful and elegant to be a shark. Fins that were long and eerily beautiful. Markings that coated their backs in haunting patterns that screamed warnings. Eyes that gleamed at you beneath leagues of water, large, unblinking and soulless. Dark soulless eyes that could talk you into walking off the edge of a ship without thinking about the consequences. 

“Beware the Kei’huwen’a.

Do you wish to see something strange?

Something old and ancient

These are their grounds

Hiding under your ship,

Don’t go close to Wai Rewera

Beware the Alor of the Deep.

Beware Katoa and his offspring.

Beware of their teeth.

They will lure you overboard,

Drag you over the side by the flank

Beware Katoa and his offspring. 

Beware, sailor, beware.

Long of tail and sharp of teeth

Under your wooden boat

They circle ‘round.

Come with us, beware the waters. 

Listen, Sailor

Listen!

Beware Katoa and his ilk!

Beware Aitua the smallest!

For he may tangle our nets but even we do not dare anger him.

For calamity upon the one

Who warrants his wrath

Katoa the old slumbering beast 

Katoa, lord of the deep.

Beware him!

This is his home.

Everyone hails him as Alor of the Deep

Teeth ground sharp and Eyes a Dark!”

The woman sang as she gathered her nets to her and continued up the hill to a lone stone cottage sitting by the edge of the harbor. Where seas crashed and waves roared. Where no sailor dared to moor his ship, too afraid of the waters and the rocks.

**PAGE BREAK**

The Foreigner thought none of these things as he clamped his way across wooden deck plating. Past fancy lines and white pristine fancy sails. He did not look into the blue waters surrounding his boat. Not because he feared what lay beneath. Oh no. No, the Foreigner had no fears of what lay beneath the surface of the water. Why should he? The legend of “ _Kei’huwen’a_ ” was nothing more than that. A Fairy Tale spoke around fires at night to scare the children. 

Just another Fish-Wives’ story that has evolved through the tales of time. 

“Katoa?” He huffed, spitting a gob of tobacco over the side of the deck. If he had looked closer, paid more attention to what lay beneath the ripples of the ocean, he would have turned back. 

“Sure. Bah! Them Natives Don’t know what they speak of. Humph!”

A smooth silent hunter circled and slid, danced beneath the hull of the ship. Movements so elegant and swift, such a powerful creature prowled beneath the waters. It lurked, eyes wide and dark, having no whites of the eyes. Just a large black pupil and iris in alabaster translucent skin. Smooth skin that is so much softer, more slippery than a human.

No. That was a lie. Their skin was not smooth. Not traditionally the way a human was. It was not smooth. It was like the skin of a Shark’s, rough sandpaper, a coarse texture created from placoid scales, tiny teeth like structures coating their skin. 

A Tiny Schooner sailing towards it’s doom. This is what was happening. The hunter lurked and waited, swimming beneath the waters of which he hid. 

**PAGE BREAK**

Shmi watched the back of the man that had stolen something valuable, something precious from her family. This was a man who did not know the error of his ways, but he would pay. Oh, how he would pay for his sins. This was a man who sailed into dangerous territories without a care in the world. He had no reason to fear those beneath the waves. Why should he? He was the king of the food chain. He was the master here and everything else was the prey.

But first, Shmi had to get the pelt back.

Anakin was separated from the water. From the sea.

The water that was his lifeblood that flowed through him. How was he supposed to _live_ if he was cut away from his very way of life?

So Shmi, used her skills, her resources, her cunning wit and sharp mind to steal that which had been stolen back. 

The people of the village called her, ‘ _Jahaal’dush Dala_ ’; Cursed Healer Woman. Not that they were wrong of course.

But that was for her to know this time, and for that poor Sailor to find out in the upcoming weeks.

Shmi was odd by all accounts. She lived in a cottage by the sea, on the section of land where ships often got land locked and foundered. They often ran aground or hit underground rocks in front of her land. But sailors… they were a suspicious lot. They often blamed reasons they could not understand on witchcraft or the gods being upset.

Not that they were not wrong of course.

**PAGE BREAK**

The sailor had wanted a coat made from the pelt of this creature, but first he had to find someone willing to make it into a coat. None of the locals seemed willing. 

They all saw the brightly done patterns on the back. Colors that were streaked and marred with holes and well worn. The well faded grimy blue and silver pelt that was brought back by the Sailor and they shut their doors in fear. 

“You do not know what you have angered, _Iwi Ke_. Go! Take your curse and leave this place. Go!” A short old man spat at the Sailor’s feet. Green eyes filled with fear. Shocking white hair sprung outside of a green faded hat. In his hand he shook a knobby old cane at the Sailor before he continued his way.

**PAGE BREAK**

The Sailor eventually ended up standing in front of an old ramshackled building. It looked ancient and half ready to collapse with a good storm hitting it. On the steps was the lady from the harbor that morning. In her lap, was a length of woven fabric, her hands weaving it as she hummed.

Two small boys played in the yard, both holding sticks in their hands as they attempted to master swordplay. Their mother kept glancing up periodically to make sure that they were okay. 

“An’kaan, Tama, not too close to the water yeah?” She called, body at ease on stone steps. 

“You are Dala?” The Sailor called, a sea bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I see you have made it back to land, Sailor.” The woman put her weaving to the side, standing up to talk to the man. “They call me Dala, yes. What brings you to my home, good sir?”

“I wish for a coat made from this fine pelt. They say that you are the one that would sew it.” The Sailor dropped the heavy canvas bag on the ground, the insides crunkling and chittering with metal hollow echoes as he dug through and pulled a long coat of scale and fur out.

The woman edged closer, curiosity in her eyes. “You want me to make a coat of this pelt? Why look at the holes! Look at the scarring and the age at that! Oh no! No, this would not be a good coat for you!”

Dala took the pelt of silver and blue, eyes tracing the patterns etched out, how faded they looked in some spots and how thin the skin was in others. 

“I want a coat, woman! A grand coat! Something to show how wealthy I am. How great and bold a hunter.” The man chewed on his pipe. Arms crossed his chest. “Why not this pelt? Is this not the Pelt of a Kei’huwen’a?”

“Oh, it is. Oh, it is. But this is an old Selkie. Much too old for the coat you want.” Shmi fingered the soft fur, internally seething.

But oh, she had to get Anakin’s coat back. And there was only one person who had captured the coats from her family…. And he was in for some hard hunting. He had captured _Katoa_ but the rest? 

Hmm.. well there was nothing but trouble for him there. That is for sure. 

“Then _what_ would make a good coat, woman?” He spoke harshly, fingers itching for his prize once more. How he wanted a fabulous coat. How he wanted to be the envy of his peers! It was HE who had caught the famed Kei’huwen’a. No one else could do that. They were all too afraid of _Wai Rewera_. But not him! Oh, not him! He was the best! He was the bravest! And look! Look at how his treasures that he has brought back.

“Why a young one of course. You cannot just make a coat out of _any_ old Selkie. Don’t you know that? You need a young one, but not too young of course. A coat that would be silky soft and supple. One that has bright freshly done markings, but large. It needs to be a large coat. Something that would fit a man of your girth, Sailor.”

The Sailor huffed and chewed on his pipe, thinking. Finally, after moments of silence except for the gnawing of the wooden pipe stem, he nodded. “You’re right, Dala. You’re most certainly right. I shall go find me a better pelt to make a coat out of.”

“And this one? What would you have me do with this?” Dala smiled, reaching across, and holding the folded blue and silver pelt. 

“I may want a hat! Yes a hat for that one will do just fine. Wouldn’t that be a beautiful thing, Dala?” He exclaimed loudly. 

“A hat?!” One of the boys dropped his stick, coming closer to see the pelt. “Why would you make a hat out of Katoa’s pelt?” 

“Hush, son. Go back to playing with your brother.” The woman pushed him behind her skirts, eyes wide with innocence as she looked up at the Sailor. 

“No, you are right young man. I can do much better than a hat for the famed Katoa!” He grabbed his sea bag, flung it over his shoulder and shouted as he left the yard. “Hold onto that pelt woman! I shall be back in a week’s time with a better pelt for you! You can make that one into the lining of my new coat!”

**PAGE BREAK**

A week turned into two and then four and then 20. But each pelt the man brought to Dala was not right. They were all too old, too scared and too ripped. Too worn and thin. Not of bright enough colors, too many patterns. The list of complaints continued and they continued and the Sailor began to despair of ever getting his nice fine Selkie Coat. Oh how he wanted to be the pride of all men. How he wanted the world to know how fabulous his nice fine coat was! It would be a truly remarkable thing! Especially with his unicorn necktie pin and his polished narwhal cane.

Finally, he brought a pelt to the woman. just one more. The Sailor was angry, frustrated, and grouchy. 

Dala shook her head in sadness, internally she was frustrated. She fingered the pelt, as she examined it for even the smallest of blemishes. This was still not _Anakin’s_ coat. How they needed Anakin’s. This was not even Kei’huwen’a! This was not even from the pod that was closest to their lands. This was from different territories. 

‘How far did the man sail for this coat?’ She wondered, finally finding a small hole. Just one big enough for her fingers to wiggle through it. 

“This is certainly a fine pelt you have brought me, Sailor. Look at the colors! Such fine workmanship would go into creating a fine coat for a man of your reputation. But see! Look here and see! There is a horrible rip in this pelt. I would most certainly be afraid of turning this into a fine coat. It would only rip more. I need a pelt from the youngest Selkie you can find.” She told him, beginning to fold the coat up once more. 

The Sailor grumbled, he huffed, his eyes screwed shut with disbelief and anger. “Now see here woman! I have brought you many a fine pelt! You are looking for even the smallest of blemishes! I have spent nearly half a year bringing you pelts!”

“You want the perfect coat do you not, Sailor?” She asked, internally shouting with glee as she watched the man grab his bag and stomped back to his ship. 

He would be back in a bout a week with yet another pelt. But would it be the one that Shmi was looking for this time? 

In the back of her house, in a cellar that usually held their provisions for winter, now held pounds and pounds of nice fine, soft pelts. Pelts from Katoa to Motuhake to Aitua. Coats that were brightly drenched in purple warnings and patterns, screaming of death and poison to Shmi. Katoa’s was silver and blue, markings that were proud, well-earned things that had been etched into his skin after he proved time after time that he would be their Alor. 

They were his and he was theirs. 

**PAGE BREAK**

Shmi stood in her house, watching the moon creep up and up in the sky. The color of the sky was dark and grey, almost a purple blue tint to the clouds and the moon was large. Large like a scared pearl that shone bright and lit up the night in ways that were only related to it being a full moon. But it wouldn’t be that way for long. The skies were turning green. 

Colors that Shmi knew very well. It heralded a storm. One that had brought her to her Riduur. Skies that would wreck a ship no matter how sturdy the hull or how well traveled it was. So there Shmi sat on her front steps, watching the sky and singing as her fingers looped and moved wool yarn as she worked. 

“Look away, look away

look away, look away

A storm is on its way, wreck your life, evening, and day

This year has been nothing but desmay for you

so, look away

look away.”

Anakin and Boba were asleep in their beds in the house, tucked in tight and freshly washed. But as long as Anakin didn’t have his coat, she would be stranded here on this hard cold desolate land. Her boy craved the waves, longed to be among them once more. But that was impossible. Shmi could not leave behind her boys. They needed her, just like all of them needed _jatne manda_. 

So Shmi sat on her steps, singing as she worked. Words and stitches were continued and added up. One right after another throughout the night as wind began to pick up knot by knot and raindrops began to fall. 

Drop by drop.

“A serious business - no time to cry.

a serious business- no time to tarry

A warrior’s trick to stay alive

a serious business, death and dying

how foolish, Sailor you must be

Katoa will hunt you to your foolish death

battle you through wind and rain

hunting you with long tail and sharp teeth

leave a bloody gash on your cheek

Stealth and cunning aren’t your friends

unto the bloody end.”

The storm blew all through the night. The people of the Village huddled in their homes, too afraid to leave until it had left them clear skies once more. They sat together in their homes, windows shuddered and doors locked tight. Too afraid to go out and about, even here on land. 

The tavern stood dark, the ships and boats in the harbor bobbed up and down on the water. Stray animals huddled among their kind in the barns. No one was about the streets, no one dared to. How badly was Katoa and his offspring angered this night? How wild the hunt must be for them for the skies to have turned green and then red with blood. 

None heard the woman singing as she knitted another row and another row on the edge of the village. None dared to even whisper the name ‘ _Dala_ ’, afraid of what it may bring. 

The next morning, there was no sign of Dala and her sons. The cottage in which she had lived mysteriously was abandoned. The only thing that remained was mysterious tracks. grooved dragged tracks between periodic divots dug into the sand. It was a trail leading from the stone pathway all the way until it disappeared into the seas once more. 

The cellar full of Selkie Pelts had disappeared with them. The only thing to remain was the shipwreck that washed ashore the morning after. It was the Sailor’s once brand-new sailing ship.

Now a crumbled torn, shredded mess. 


End file.
